


It's Not a Sipping Wine

by CherryMilkshake



Series: Who would have thought you'd be a big softie? [6]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-15 10:38:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5783128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryMilkshake/pseuds/CherryMilkshake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being in love is wonderful and terrible at the same time. When circumstance conspires to drive Dorian and Adaar apart, Dorian tries to take refuge in old habits.</p><p>Will it be the beginning of the end?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wine comes in at the mouth

One of the things that Dorian liked about Bern was his gentleness. But more than once he had seen that gentleness warp his behavior, that fear of hurting others in the moment sheltering them from needed truth. Like when they had found that elf boy who'd done some sort of demon summoning out on the Exalted Plains. He'd never told the clan what the boy had done, had called him brave even! 

And that kindness turned to self-sacrifice too quickly. He never slept enough, too eager to take every burden onto his wide shoulders. He would bully Cullen to bed, then spend another few hours deep into the black night pouring over the war table and reports. 

Dorian fiddled with the birthright hanging from his neck. Bern wanted to take care of everyone, even if it meant he didn't get what he wanted.

And yet, even knowing that… 

Bern had not fought very hard for Dorian to stay in the Inquisition. 

Of course, after what he'd seen at the Temple of Mythal, Dorian knew he had to go back, and he knew he couldn't pull the Inquisitor away from his fledgling organization. But he'd been expecting a _bit_ more pushback than a request to come along and then a watery smile and understanding when Dorian rebuffed him. 

They hadn't talked about it since. 

Granted, it was busy. The majority of the Inquisition's forces were still stuck down south, and the advisors had only just returned and… And… 

And Dorian couldn't shake the creeping fingers of doubt. 

\-- 

That night, he didn't spend the night in Bern's room. The only reaction was the next morning, when Bern asked at breakfast if he'd been feeling alright, nothing but gentle concern. 

He didn't think he was being played. Bern was too honest for that. But Dorian couldn't help but wonder how equal their feelings were here. Bern would throw himself in front of a blade for him, but Dorian knew he'd do the same for any of his friends. Or even a stranger, if the stranger didn't prove to be an ass prior to the blade's fall. But Dorian… Well, Dorian didn't want to examine his feelings too closely.

Corypheus proved an easy enough distraction. 

\--  
The party was perfect, thanks to Lady Montilyet. There was enough alcohol floating around that even the Bull was getting tipsy. Bern was a giggling mess as he sat with Sera and Cole, being plied with drinks by fawning drunken courtiers. 

Dorian sat farther away, watching quietly. His wrist twinged as he swirled the wine in his glass—it had been sprained in the fight. He and Bern had spoken earlier. He'd asked when Dorian was leaving. 

It had been easy enough to make a joke of it ( _Trying to get rid of me so soon?_ ) but it had stung regardless. He refilled his glass and emptied it just as quickly. Sera was trying to teach Bern a tongue-twister and both of them were failing abysmally. 

When Bern got up and wished everyone good night, walking to the stairs to his quarters, Dorian went to follow him. Fuck if anyone noticed, they were drunk anyway. Dorian's smile was perfectly in place as he nudged Bern through the door, and his heart couldn't help but lighten at the smile he received in return. 

\--

For over three months, Dorian put off his return. Bern didn't seem to be complaining about it. But when Dorian received a letter from Maevaris, asking when he was planning to show his face in Qarinus, he knew it was time.

That night, as sweat cooled on their skin, Dorian told the darkness, "I've arranged passage to Tevinter with a merchant caravan in two weeks' time."

Bern's fingers, which had been idly drifting up and down Dorian's back, stopped. "I see," Bern said. "I assume you'll have to meet the ship's captain in some coastal city?"

"Yes, I'll need to meet him in Jader." It was a week's journey, at a normal pace.

In the muted light of stars and moon, Bern's expression was murky. "I'll miss you, Dorian," he said at last. His hands moved, coming up to cradle Dorian's face, guiding their lips to meet. 

As Dorian pulled away, he couldn't help but to test the bindings of this… relationship. "So…" he began softly. "Sex."

A low chuckle rumbled beneath Dorian's chest. "Yes, that is what just happened, kadan."

Dorian frowned. "Well yes, but I mean… I'll be in Tevinter. You'll be here."

The tone of Bern's voice shifted, turned serious. "Yes… What are you asking, Dorian?"

Dorian hated the flatness of Bern's voice, controlled, always so damn controlled. He knew it was years of work, years of showing everyone that he was a Good Qunari, not a mindless, raving monster. But Dorian almost wished he'd yell. "I'm asking what you want to do about it."

"That depends. Are you saying you want my permission to sleep with other people while we're apart?"

Damn Lady Montilyet and her etiquette drills. Dorian could hear her careful tones echoed in Bern's voice. His hands were no longer touching Dorian at all. Dorian didn't answer, taking a coward's way out, allowing a tacit affirmative.

Magic twitched under Dorian's fingertips. He wanted light for this. He wanted to see Bern's face clearly, but he restrained the urge.

"If that's what you want," Bern said quietly. "You have my permission, if I have yours."

Dorian's heart tightened. He'd wanted possession, wanted jealousy, proof that this was more. So what was this relationship then? Just long-term bedmates? The very thought of Bern sleeping with someone else turned Dorian's stomach worse than the Waking Sea.

But the only words that came out of his mouth were, "You have it."

\-- 

They didn't talk about it after that.

Bern fussed over him the day he left. "Please write to me as soon as you can," he said, big hand smoothing over Dorian's horse's neck for a fourth time. "Tell me if you need anything."

Dorian looked to the little squad of templars who would be accompanying him. "I think I'll be fine, amatus."

The one in charge of them, named Darrow he believed, gave him a nod. 

"I'll write to Magister Tilani if I don't hear from you soon," Bern said. He touched Dorian's arm, looking up at him with want in his eyes. "I'll miss you."

"And I you." Dorian pressed his lips to Bern's forehead, smiling a little. "I have to say, I quite like being the taller one."

Bern chuckled, but it cracked at the edges. 

Dorian wondered if he would be grabbed off the horse and brought somewhere, just to delay the inevitable that much longer.

But no, Bern swallowed and stepped back, smiling at Dorian again. "Take care, kadan. I look forward to your letters."

Their final kiss goodbye was passionate but brief, before distance and howling winds made Skyhold vanish behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is adapted from Neil Gaiman's _Anansi Boys_ , one of my favorite books. "It's not sipping wine. It's a mourning wine. You drain it. Like this." 
> 
> I was mining wine quotes for something Dorian-y.


	2. And love comes in at the eye;

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When weeks of travel lay between them, can Dorian and Bern keep up a relationship? Or will they grow apart? Two years is a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for some mentions of pretty awful abuse, though nothing explicit.

Letters were excruciating. Every doubt Dorian had ever had was magnified by distance and time. 

It didn't help that Bern was rather taciturn in writing.

_Kadan,_

_Had to go to the Winter Palace yet again to meet with Empress Celene. She's been having some trouble with a few of Gaspard's ex-allies. I don't know what she expects me to do about it. I'm not a diplomat, but she wouldn't accept my offer of Josephine._

_I got another letter from that noblewoman, the one who was making marriage proposal suggestions. She seems determined, even though I don't know what she's expecting to get out of it. Do you know if humans and qunari can even have children together? I don't think I've ever met someone mixed, but elf-blooded humans just look human, so… I figured you might know._

_I miss you. Write back soon._

_Bern_

Dorian recalled previous letters about that noblewoman, a minor Orlesian player, no one particularly special. Clearly she was making a risky power play, since Bern had the Empress's favor. 

Thinking about his big, sweet man of a lover and that worst sort of social climber made Dorian's skin crawl. He kept his reply light of course, no need to burden the Inquisitor further. He did make his opinion of such people known, and he hoped that would be enough. 

Nearly three weeks later, Maevaris watched him over breakfast. He paced as he ate, full of nervous energy. Bern's reply was late. Her blue eyes flicked back and forth, following his progress with little effort on her part. "Dorian," she said, setting down her cup of tea. "The messenger will come when he comes. Take a seat, darling." 

Dorian still twitched at the petname, expecting Madame de Fer's cold tones. Reluctantly, he sat, resting his nose atop folded hands.

"Are you expecting bad news? You're positively twitchy."

Dorian sighed. "His reply is late," he mumbled into his hands. "I worry about what happened."

Maevaris smiled. "Ahh, love," she said wistfully. 

The word made Dorian frown. Had Bern taken a new lover already? Would he even tell Dorian if he did? (Probably not.)

The messenger, to Dorian's utter surprise, was a qunari. She was tall, with deep red-orange skin and mousy pink eyes. Her horns were thin and followed the curve of her skull. "Dorian Pavus?" she asked, giving him a once over.

"Yes?" Dorian asked.

"Letter for you from Adaar. Boss mentioned to him we were running a job near here and asked us to take his note. Said he had trouble finding a regular messenger just to carry one letter. Didn't want to take up one of Spymaster's agents."

He didn't even warrant one of Leliana's ravens, huh?

Dorian gave her a few coins for her trouble. "So you're from his old mercenary company?"

She nodded. "Name's Taarlok. I do numbers and shoot things." She raised her shoulder, lifting the bow slung across her back. "Heard rumor on the way here that you're Kadan to Adaar? In the, uh, human sense, I guess?" She frowned, clearly trying to translate or reword something in her head. "Ugh this language. You're fucking, yeah?"

Dorian fought the blush that flared up in his face. "And _why_ is that any of your business?" Dorian asked in a low hiss.

She shrugged. "Adaar's my friend. Curious if it's true." She chuckled, running her eyes over his body. "If so, nice job, Adaar." 

Now Dorian was caught between being complimented and embarrassed. 

"Hope he's worthy of someone like you." Her eyes lingered on his mustache. He could feel her judgment. "He wasn't the _best_ partner I've ever had, but certainly an affectionate one. Guess you could be into that. You look like someone who'd like cuddling." 

Bern liked women? 

Dorian had assumed Bern's discussions with that noblewoman hunting for his hand were completely non-start, since Bern was like Dorian. 

But if he wasn't… Suddenly, every lustful glance he'd ever seen Bern receive from a serving girl was suspect. If he had both men and women to choose from, why shackle himself to Dorian? 

Taarlok snapped her fingers in front of Dorian's nose. "Still in there?" she asked. "Didn't think mages could get possessed outside the Fade."

It took everything Dorian had to lock his feelings away to deal with later. He smiled at her. "No we cannot. Forgive me, I was thinking about something."

"Don't wanna keep you from your blood magic rituals or whatever you've got planned for the day." She touched her fingers to her forehead. " _Vitae benefaria._ "

Dorian blinked at her impeccable accent, but she was already down the steps and halfway to the gate by the time he answered her.

He closed the door and returned to the sitting room, where he sat back in his chair, letter—unopened—in his hands.

\-- 

Dorian threw himself into work. He didn't know what else to do. His thoughts of Bern and love were big angry snarls. Cole would have made _that face_ if he were there, that concerned confusion of, "Why do you let it _hurt_ , Dorian?" 

If Maevaris worried, she respected his desire not to talk about it. Instead, she got the two of them going on recruitment. At first, they tried scoping out magisters, but when that turned up very little, they started going into the Circles, finding magisters' sons and daughters, as well as any others who stood a chance at winning a seat. 

After nearly six months of this, they were ready to write their charter. Maevaris got her estate prepared. As Dorian hovered by the table of hors d'oeuvres, he remembered Bern's celebratory party after the death of Corypheus. With a sigh, he rubbed his eyes with one hand. Bern's letters were becoming less frequent, and less personal. The last had read mostly as a summary of his Inquisition work than anything else. 

Thank the Maker, Aster was answering the door, his soft voice recognizable as it echoed down the hall. 

One thing that was hard to readjust to in Tevinter was the slavery. After years in the South, after knowing most of servants around Skyhold by name, being expected to just think of someone as "just another slave" was suddenly difficult.

Aster was an older man, his blond hair streaked with white. Dorian had asked him once, what he did before he was bought by Maevaris. Aster's long ears had shifted up and down as he swallowed. "I was a pleasure slave, ser," he'd said at last, his eyes on the ground. 

And Dorian had remembered youthful days in the slums of Minrathous, paying pittance to sleep with slaves. He'd felt suddenly sick, realizing that he hadn't thought of them even as _people_. 

The woman setting the table was human, named Italica. Burn scars covered much of her face, warping her skin. "Acid," she'd said, when Dorian had quietly asked. "Displeased my last master."

Maevaris made a point of buying slaves who had been ill-treated, but Dorian had never been aware of what "ill-treated" had meant, not really. He'd certainly never met anyone with deliberate acid burns in Skyhold, even among the poorest soldiers and pilgrims. 

Dorian rubbed his eyes again. He had to focus. This was an important night. Tevinter wasn't going to be changing at all if this didn't pan out. 

Aster brought those who arrived to the meeting room. Italica had slid carefully out of sight. "Lord Pavus, it is good to see you again," said one of the guests, Lord Leonis Vitalus of the Vyrantium Circle. 

Dorian put on his best politician smile. "Lord Vitalus, the pleasure is mine. Maevaris will be just a few moments more. You know how she gets before parties."

Vitalus chuckled. "All women do. But these refreshments do look lovely."

Vitalus' wife, Honoria, gave Dorian a polite smile, but her strained expression made it clear she didn't think her husband was smart for coming here. Dorian made a mental note to try and change her mind.

Maevaris arrived, resplendent, as she always was, in blue and silver, her blonde hair carefully curled. She sensed Honoria's reluctance even quicker than Dorian, and twined her arm with hers, speaking in gentle whispers. 

"Lord Pavus?" Aster said. "A messenger also left this for you, ser." He pressed a letter into Dorian's hand, sealed with the Inquisition's mark.

Dorian thanked him and slid it into his pocket. 

More guests began to trickle in, young men and women, some still shy of their 21st year. But there was one person Dorian had never expected to see again. 

Lord Rilienus Abrexis. His skin was still whiskey-brown, his hair still thick and glossy black. He had a beard now. It aged him, but aged like a fine wine—headier, more mature. 

Cole's words, said so long ago, echoed in his mind. _He would have said yes._

The beard did nothing to change the familiar curve of his lip as he smiled. " _Avanna_ , Dorian. It's been too long."

Dorian found himself smiling back. "Indeed. I rather thought the scandal would have made sure we'd never again cross paths."

Rilienus shrugged. "Being a senior enchanter in Minrathous has its perks. Also, you're hardly the pariah you used to be, Lord Pavus."

"Oh, just wait. I'll be back to my old status in no time." Dorian chuckled. "So, you made senior enchanter, did you?" A small part of Dorian's heart was envious. 

"I'd love to talk about my research later, if there's time." His hand was warm where it rested lightly on Dorian's arm. A question.

"I would like that, I think," Dorian said, touching his fingertips to the back of his hand. An answer.

Rilienus smiled wider. 

\-- 

The meeting went about as well as could be expected. A lot of wine. A lot of yelling. Some accidental magical flare-ups. But in the end, a charter lay before them, emblazoned with their faction's name, _Lucerni_. 

The gathered drunken alti were carefully shepherded to their guest suites, leaving Dorian and Rilienus alone at the long table, sitting by themselves at one corner. Maevaris gave Dorian a significant look before taking herself off to bed.

"So," Rilienus said, smiling as he rested his chin on his palm. "Tell me about the Inquisition. It must have been much more exciting than my research into staff auras."

Dorian chuckled, swirling the wine in his glass. Aster and one of the kitchen workers, Iacob, were quietly clearing the table of plates of uneaten food and empty bottles. "You could say that. It was a bit fraught at times, but it wouldn't be a very good tale otherwise, would it?" 

The drink loosened his tongue as he told tales both epic and ribald, charmed by Rilienus' rapt attention as he always had been. "And, in fact, the Inquisitor and I are quite close." Dorian took the unopened letter from his pocket, showing Rilienus the seal.

"Truly? That's remarkable. Though I can't say I'm surprised." Rilienus chuckled, then emptied his glass. "You always had a way of impressing people, Dorian." He touched the wax seal. "What does it say? Exciting Inquisition news? Secrets?"

Dorian snorted. "Adaar's Spymaster would never let him send secrets so blatantly. And how would I know what's in it? It's _sealed_ , Rilienus."

He chuckled. "Oops. Think you could share a little? It'd be interesting to 'meet' the dread Inquisitor, so to speak."

"I don't see why not." Dorian slit the envelope open and shook the letter out, smoothing on the table to read. Surely it was more of Bern's itinerary of the last few weeks. " _Kadan_ ," he began. He was grateful for the small frown of confusion on Rilienus' face at the unknown word. " _Winter always comes early to Skyhold. It has been nearly a year since you left. Yet the distance—_ " 

Dorian cut himself off, eyes scanning ahead before his voice could catch up. He noticed now the handwriting, not neat and blocky as it normally was, but loose and sloppy. The vellum smelled faintly of alcohol, and there appeared to be liquid damage to one corner, smearing some of the words. 

_Yet the distance still hurts, sharper than any chill. I am not good at writing. I feel the distance between us, but I can't find a way to stop it. Maker, give me a dragon to slay instead! I asked Cassandra what one of her book heroines would do, and after she stopped spluttering, she told me to just write about all the times I think of you._

_So I will._

_I wake and still expect to find you beside me. My feet carry me to the library still, though your chair collects dust and the floors remain bare of candles and books. My library is organized, yet I wish only for the chaos of your research again. Cole comes to visit Skyhold sometimes. He tells me about you, when he can feel your hurt. I always hope I am not the cause, but I often am._

_I am not good at writing letters. I write far more than I send you. Sometimes all I can pen is 'I miss you' before I cannot bear to continue. Your replies are always appreciated, but I miss your voice, your touch, the smell of that oil you use on your hair. I almost struck the poor servant who washed my sheets after you left, because I can no longer smell you in my bed._

_I am scared, Dorian. I fear a future without you in it._

His signature was messy, dotted with ink where the pen dripped from his hand. Ink had smeared on the envelope as well, as if Bern had stuffed it inside without waiting for it to dry fully, and sent it out without sobering up. 

Dorian was wiping his eyes before he quite realized he was crying.

"Dorian?" Rilienus asked. The hand on Dorian's arm was too small, fingers narrow instead of wide, nails manicured instead of rough and tooth-worn. "Is something wrong?"

Dorian shook his head in a blatant lie. He slid the letter back into its envelope. "No, no. I just. I need to call it a night, I think."

"Do you want me to join you?" Rilienus asked, his voice neutral despite what he was asking.

Dorian shook his head again. "No, my friend. I think I should be alone."

"Just for tonight? I'll be in Qarinus a few days more."

Ah, Dorian could feel his younger self rejoice, somewhere in the past. Once, he had seen in Rilienus a glimmer of what he'd found in Bern. To that younger self, the self that trusted in the good heart of Halward Pavus, who had cried and fought to get back to Rilienus' side the night they'd been dragged apart, refusing Rilienus now would be nothing short of idiocy.

"I'm afraid I must decline. I would love to discuss your research though, truly. Perhaps over lunch?"

Rilienus sighed in clear disappointment. "I admit, Dorian, I had been looking forward to seeing your bed again, but as you wish." He stood up, swaying a little as he got his balance back. He chuckled ruefully. "Seems like I should get to bed myself. Lunch would be lovely. I'll see you then."

Dorian watched him go. His chest ached. He tucked Bern's letter into a pocket near his heart, touched it through the fabric. Cole had asked him once why he held so tightly onto things that hurt him, why he let so much of himself be defined by pain. 

He hadn't really known how to answer then, but he had a better idea now, perhaps. It was because with knowing that pain, the moments of happiness felt like ecstasy.

\-- 

A few days later, Dorian received an apology letter. Bern explained that they'd killed another dragon, and Bull had gotten him extremely drunk. Dorian wrote him back teasingly, calling him a big softie. 

For a few months, their letters were almost like speaking. And that gave Dorian an idea.

"Maevaris," he said one morning over breakfast. "Do you happen to know anyone with a set of sending crystals?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Not off the top of my head, but I'd start with some of the senior enchanters in Neromenian and Carastes. Erasthenes might have had one, but he got swept up into the Venatori and killed, so who knows where his collection is now. Why?"

Dorian smiled to himself. "I have a gift idea, and I might as well make use of my friendship with one of the most powerful men in Thedas, hm?"

Maevaris chuckled. "Just don't get yourself arrested doing anything shady. You have to think of our organization's reputation now."

"Very well. I'll hire people to do all the shady work for me."

Maevaris winked. "Now you're thinking like a magister."

With a shudder, Dorian set his cup of tea down. "Perish the thought! I think I'm quite happy to be estranged from that."

Maevaris shrugged. "Suit yourself, dear."

\-- 

Turns out, it _was_ Erasthenes who'd had a set of sending crystals. Dorian had people out searching, but the process was long. 

In the meantime, Bern's letters had started to become distant again, so Dorian had decided to finally face the unpleasant things that returning to Tevinter had placed in his lap. If only to distract himself. 

Alexius had declared no official heir after Felix's death, but he had named Dorian as executor of his estate. Dorian donated most of it to the Circles and some to the University of Orlais, where Felix had studied. The Alexius he had worked with had always believed strongly in the worth of an education, both magical and not. It seemed only right.

While he was working in Asariel, he received a message from his mother, informing him that Halward was going to be away for the next month. It was not an invitation in the strictest sense, but Dorian knew what his mother wanted. 

So upon his return to Qarinus, instead of going directly to the Tilani estate, he stopped by his old home. 

Luc, the guard at the gate, recognized him. "Master Pavus," he said, bowing. "Shall I have word sent to your father of your arrival? He is currently away, but could be here in a short week."

"Please don't, Luc. Just let my mother know I'm here."

Luc blinked, perhaps surprised at not being called "boy" or "elf", but he didn't comment, instead nodding to Aris, who ran inside to announce Dorian's appearance.

Dorian's mother had always had a flair for the dramatic, so he was not surprised to see all the curtains drawn, throwing the house into murky darkness despite the day's bright sun. She was draped languidly across a couch in the drawing room, a delicate crystal goblet in her hand. 

She set it down as Dorian entered, standing to greet him. Her breath stank as she left kisses on both his cheeks. "My darling baby boy," she said. "I have missed you, my sweet."

"And I you, Mother." The words were dead and hollow. He remembered her drunken stare from this very couch, watching silently as Dorian and Halward fought for the last time. _Get out, you are no son of mine!_

Cole's voice whispered in Dorian's mind. _He wishes he hadn't meant it._

"I heard from your father that you joined the Inquisition. There have been many… colorful rumors about you and the Inquisitor." Her gray eyes, drunken though they were, were still sharp. 

"There are many colorful rumors about the Inquisitor in general, Mother. Have you heard the ones about Philip? The ambassador is not entirely sure the man even exists, but the stories are _fantastic_."

"Dorian, you know what I'm referring to."

"Do I, Mother? The one involving Philip, the Inquisitor, and the Wintersend Ball in Lydes is quite a good one. Ribald in that uniquely Orlesian fashion. No less than three instances of clothes being torn while masks stay perfectly in place."

"Dorian," she snapped. "I know you think you're being quite clever, but I need to know if you are _romantically involved_ with that… beast!"

Dorian's temper flared. "And just why do you need to know that? And what right do you have to call him a beast?! You've never met the man!"

"I don't need to!" she snapped. "You remember the raid before you left! They killed Lady Velox's favorite bodyguard."

Dorian rubbed his eyes in frustration. "He isn't a Qunari. He's _Vashoth_. He's no more a follower of the Qun than you or I."

"So he says."

Dorian rolled his eyes. "Do you honestly think the Qunari are stupid enough to use a Vashoth as a spy? They use _elves_ for that, Mother. I guarantee you, there are more Qunari spies here posing as elven slaves than there are Tal-Vashoth."

She changed tack. "Dorian," she crooned gently, reaching up to cup his face. "I know it's been difficult for you, dear, but you don't need to prostrate yourself before a powerful man to find shelter. You are a Pavus and a powerful mage—"

"You think I'm _prostrating_ myself?" Dorian spat. "Or did you mispronounce _prostitute_?"

"I would never say that about you! You are my son!" 

Dorian shook off her attempts at touch and backed toward the door. "But you're free to imply it all you like, I see. This conversation is over, Mother. Take care."

She chased after him, feet swaying precariously underneath her. "Dorian! I'm sorry, I am. Please stay."

He paused in the entranceway, stilled by the tears in her voice. She was alone here, more than ever before with the precariousness of the Pavus name in society and Dorian's own leaving. But he remembered how she never wrote, not even to Giselle. Never stepped in when he and Halward had fought. Drowned herself in drink rather than face her own child. 

He shook his head, didn't look back. "Take care, Mother."

\-- 

Letters from Bern grew fewer. Dorian started to see echoes of Leliana's phrasing in the words. He didn't know if that meant Bern was asking for advice or Leliana was telling him what to say to keep up pretensions.

He hoped it was the former, dreaded it was the latter. He could just picture the Spymaster in his head, talking about it being important to keep as many friendly contacts in Tevinter as possible for the sake of the Inquisition. 

He was never bold enough to ask. How did one do it without sounding like a child?

_Do you still love me?_

_Is there another in your bed now?_

_Have you moved on?_

\-- 

He heard about the Exalted Council from the messenger delivering the sending crystals, of all things. "You know, they say the Inquisition is going on trial," the elf said as Dorian gathered up his payment. "You were a part of it once, weren't you, Messere Pavus?"

"Yes, I was, but what is it being put on trial for?" Dorian asked, baffled. 

The elf shrugged. "Political reasons probably. It's got a big army and it's right on that border with Orlais and Ferelden, isn't it?"

Dorian frowned. "You know quite a lot, don't you?" 

"I'm a messenger and an elf, ser. I hear a lot of things, mostly by being invisible. Been hearing things about what you and Magister Tilani are up to." He grinned. "You're pissing off all the right people, if you excuse my language, ser. Figured I could return the favor with a bit of gossip. Sorry it's not more."

Dorian blinked, caught off guard. "Well… Then, I thank you, ser. Do you know when this trial is?"

"In four months' time, if I recall correctly."

Dorian nodded to himself. He had time. Maybe he could pull more information out of Bern. If he would answer his letters. (Though perhaps this upcoming trial was the reason for the scarcity?)

"Thank you," Dorian said again. "I appreciate the information. Here." He pressed the money into the messenger's hand.

"Ah, ser, you gave me too much."

Dorian waved him away. "Call it payment for the tip."

The elf grinned. "Will do, ser. _Vitae benefaria._ "

Dorian closed the door and opened the box that had been delivered, looking at the sending crystals. He'd have to test them. But if they worked… He picked one up, rolling it between his fingers. If they worked, could they help make sure this relationship endured? 

(If it wasn't already too late.)

\--

Maevaris's voice was clear in his hand. "Well, Dorian? Do they work?" she asked from her seat in the other room.

"Yes!" he said brightly. "Now we should test it at a greater distance."

"The Magisterium will be sitting in a week's time," Maevaris said thoughtfully. "We should try it across the Nocen."

"Good idea. If it works there, then it should work from Orlais." He closed the little door of the crystal's housing, and Maevaris's voice fell quiet. 

She appeared in the doorway, looking grumpy. "Did you cut me off? Rude, Dorian." 

He smirked. "It was purely for testing purposes."

She made a skeptical noise, then rolled her eyes, a fond smile on her face.

\-- 

A week later, at the agreed-upon time, Dorian opened the little pendant's door and asked the blue crystal, "Maevaris? Are you there?"

"I am," she said after a moment. Her voice seemed unusually serious. "That Exalted Council of the Inquisition came up on the floor today. I have news for you. You'll be getting a letter soon, but I figured I could tell you now."

Dorian raised his eyebrows at her tone. "Sounds ominous."

He could hear the rustling of fabric, could picture Maevaris adjusting her position in her chair, removing her outer cloak. "You've been named the Imperium's ambassador to the Inquisition."

Dorian's foot, which had been happily resting on his opposite knee, fell heavily to the floor. "I've been _what_?" 

Maevaris had the audacity to sound amused. "Congratulations, Lord Pavus, you're moving up in the world."

Dorian had never expected to get wrapped up into _this_ side of politics. Wasn't he disinherited anyway?

"Look at the bright side, Dorian," Maevaris said. "You'll be able to see him again. I'm sending my crystal ahead. You'll have to get going sooner than I'll return."

"I… Thank you, Maevaris. I appreciate it." 

"Take care, Dorian. And good luck." The light faded and Dorian closed the locket. He sighed heavily and looked out the window at the sea, lit orange and red in the setting sun. While part of him wanted nothing more than to see Bern again, there was also an element of anxiety. What had two years wrought between them? Would it be like returning home? Or would it be entering ruins of what once was? Here in Qarinus, he didn't have to face that second possibility. 

He had no idea which one was more likely to be true.

He rested his head in his hand and watched the tide come in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Avanna: Tevene greeting  
> Vitae benefaria: Tevene polite farewell


	3. I lift the glass to my mouth,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Exalted Council begins. Bern and Dorian are reunited after two long years. Can they pick up where they left off? And what will Bern's divine bad luck cause now?

The Winter Palace had not changed in two years. It was much grander in the daylight though, the (ostentatious) golden lions gleaming in the sun. The Inquisition had yet to arrive, according to the gossip he could overhear. 

Dorian's stomach churned. Soon they'd see each other again. After two years. Would he be different? How so? 

Duke Cyril was very friendly. "Welcome, Ambassador!" he said warmly. "I am pleasantly surprised to see Tevinter showing its face here, but I am sure the Inquisitor is looking forward to seeing you, no?" His smile was shark-like behind the ornate mask. 

"I'm sure he will be excited to see me. Who wouldn't be?" Dorian could play shark too. "But what of you, Duke Montfort? I've heard… interesting things about you and the former Champion of Kirkwall from an associate of mine." It had been Hawke himself, who had recounted his adventures with the Ben-Hassrath in Orlais, and mentioned how _exactly_ he'd convinced this very Cyril to part with his key to the Montfort estate.

Before Cyril could recover from his reddening face, they were interrupted by horns, and the clattering of soldiers marching. The Inquisition had arrived.

Dorian looked out over the railing, easily picking out the broad, horned figure astride the armored war horse. Cullen and Josephine were riding lovelier horses, but Bern would likely break the back of one of those pretty things. 

Dorian's feelings were… complicated, seeing him again.

From a distance, he looked much the same, tall and broad, skin pale gray except where it was tinged black at the base of his horns. Dorian remembered massaging that thin skin, marveling at how he could feel the horns' texture beneath it. 

He watched as Bern and his advisors entered the Palace, and released a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. 

Duke Cyril's eyes were glittering. "Will you not be greeting him, Lord Pavus?" he asked cheerfully. 

"In due time. He has other duties to attend to, I'm sure." Dorian didn't like the smarmy, gleeful smile on the Orlesian's lips. He continued to try and wheedle information out of Cyril, keeping the man on his heels. 

Snotty Orlesians weren't Bern's type anyway.

Or at least they hadn't been.

\--

Out of the corner of his eye, Dorian watched Bern walk around the courtyard, greeting old friends and seemingly making new ones. Dorian wondered if Bern had heard already that he was here. Perhaps he was trying to find him.

Just as Dorian was getting utterly tired of the duke, he spotted the telltale horns making their way up to the balconies where he was. His heart stuttered. Bern approached, a smile growing on his face. 

Dorian concocted some excuse to disengage from the duke and walked up to him, taking in the little changes that two years had made. The line of his cheek was sharper—had he been eating properly? The stubble that had once been ever present across his face was gone, leaving only bare skin. Were those scars on his jaw new? Dorian had certainly never noticed so many before. 

Dorian wondered what Bern saw, looking at him. He didn't feel all that different, but two years was a long time. 

Bern was smiling, eyes shining. "Dorian," he said, and Dorian fought down a shiver of pleasure at hearing his name from that mouth after so long. 

"Inquisitor," Dorian returned, smiling back. 

"It's good to see you," Bern continued cheerfully. His hand twitched forward, both reaching for Dorian and respecting Dorian's space. Bern had always been good about letting Dorian decide where their public affections should be. 

Dorian just kind of wanted to grabbed up and kissed though. He hated the awkwardness that lingered in the silences. 

"It is." What could he say? What words could bridge a two year gap?

"Inquisitor," Duke Cyril said. "It is good to see you, Your Worship."

Dorian touched Bern's arm as he bid them both goodbye, pointing down to the fountains. There were couches set up in the shadow of the great palace. Bern nodded, then turned his full attention to the duke. "Duke Cyril," he said with a smile. "How long has it been?"

The conversation floated on the air as Dorian made his way downstairs, berating himself for his cowardice. He sat down, eyes fixed up on the balconies, where he could just see Bern's horns and the top of Divine Victoria's hat. 

Then the hat moved and Divine Victoria came into view as she walked down the stairs. Bern's horns stayed for a bit, perhaps talking to Ferelden's representative? Then down toward the fountain dedicated to him. 

Then, finally, Bern was coming toward him, a towering figure in rich blue. 

"Why didn't tell me you were coming, Dorian?" Bern asked, sitting beside him and laying his palm open, inviting Dorian to take it. He did, his fingers tingling when Bern thumbed gently over his knuckles. 

"And give you a chance to hide your new lovers?" Dorian immediately cursed his tongue. 

Bern's expressed grew guarded and his thumb stopped, hand retreating from Dorian's—not quick like from a burn, but slowly, reluctantly, coming to rest under the other. "I suppose it was foolish of me, to hope we could pick up where we left off," he said softly. "Is that why your letters grew so distant?"

" _My_ letters?" Dorian asked. "What about yours?"

Bern looked away and down. "I just… I never knew what to say. Just penning 'I miss you' until the ink ran dry would hardly make for interesting reading. And then your letters started getting more and more impersonal and I just… panicked I guess…" 

Dorian bit the inside of his lip. "I met one of your old mercenary friends."

Bern nodded. "Yes, Shokrakar told me they had no trouble delivering that letter. Which of them did you meet? If you remember, of course."

Dorian couldn't remember her name. "Fairly short for a qunari, sort of spindly? Horns that went like this?" He mimed them over his head. 

Bern's skin paled. "Oh Maker, she sent Taarlok?" He sighed and covered his face. "Sadistic woman," he grumbled under his breath.

"Yes, that was the name. She had… some interesting things to say about you."

"Please tell me she didn't tell you about our history."

"It did come up, in fact," Dorian said lightly. "She said you weren't much in bed." 

Bern groaned. " _Vashedan_ ," he breathed. 

"Not something worth rekindling then?" Dorian asked.

Bern shook his head. "Maker, no. She's sharp as an arrow, which is why I liked her, but… no. Never again."

Dorian raised an eyebrow, feeling a small bit of hope. "Because she's a woman, or…?" 

"No." Hope lost. "But just… She's just a bit too, er, sharp in the other sense. In the, 'she is quick to hurt you with words' sort of way. And being her lover made me target number one."

"You'd think it'd be the opposite." Dorian crossed his legs at the ankle, foot tapping anxiously against the ground.

"You'd think," Bern agreed. His ears were pink with discomfort. 

Silence fell. 

"I… didn't take any new lovers," Bern said slowly, eyes focused on the flagstones. "Just so you know."

Dorian frowned. "You had my permission to."

"I know. But… they're not you." His throat bobbed. "Um, but if you did, I understand. You're the one who first asked after all…" 

"I didn't," Dorian said quickly. 

Bern turned sharply, confusion on his face. "What? But Cole said…"

"What did he say?"

"Er, something like, _'I never thought I could see him again. The beard ages him, but it is like wine, matured. Maker, I missed him.'_ Just add more… Coleishness, I guess."

Dorian sighed and rested his head against Bern's arm. "I didn't sleep with him. He offered but… He's not you."

Bern's hand enveloped his, warm and rough-soft with calluses. "I think we're stupid," he said distantly.

"Mm, perhaps a little," Dorian agreed.

Bern's hand moved slightly, reaching to rest on Dorian's thigh. "Want to check out my quarters? I've heard rumor they're pretty nice."

Dorian chuckled. "Is this how you get out of uncomfortable conversations?"

"Only with you, kadan."

Dorian smirked. "Well, I suppose it worked. _Allons-y_ , as they say."

Bern stood up, bowing to offer Dorian a hand. "Ooh, speak Orlesian to me, Monsieur Pavus," he purred.

"I'm afraid that's rather the extent of it. The only other good one I've got is _nique ta mère_ and that's not very nice at all."

They heard a muffled gasp of shock from a masked woman nearby. Dorian smiled at her.

"Come now, kadan. Before you offend everyone with your filthy, filthy mouth. We should put it to better use." Bern's eyes glittered in anticipation.

"I look forward to it," Dorian said. 

\-- 

After a very thorough inspection of the Orlesian guest chambers, Bern and Dorian napped, blankets draped haphazardly over limbs. Dorian woke some time later, sleepy and content in a way he hadn't been in months, perhaps in two years. Bern was awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to Dorian. The buzz of magic was heavy in the air and Bern's silhouette glowed with faint green.

Dorian frowned and moved closer. "Amatus?" he asked, stifling a yawn. 

Bern turned, a smile on his face, though there was something… off in his expression. "Kadan, did I wake you?"

Dorian frowned deeper and sat up. "Bern, is there something wrong?"

He didn't miss the way the Anchor had yet to stop glowing, or the way Bern opened and closed his fingers, fist white-knuckled as it closed. "No, it'll stop soon."

Sure enough, the glow faded and Bern's hand relaxed. 

He smiled. "See? Fine."

That did nothing to allay Dorian's suspicions. "It only used to do that near rifts, didn't it? Is there some rift here somewhere?"

"Not that I know of. I'll figure it out later. Right now there's the Council to worry about." He sighed and rubbed his eyes with his unmarked hand. Then he paused and shook his head. "No, right now, _you're_ all that matters, kadan." He turned around, pulling his legs back onto the bed. He took Dorian's face in his hands, and Dorian felt wonderfully small, protected by that warmth. Bern was smiling truly now, his thumbs running over Dorian's cheekbones. "Right here, right now, there is only this. The rest of it can wait."

His kiss was soft and sweet, followed by a long breath in. "Ahh," he breathed. "I missed you, Dorian."

Dorian knew he was deflecting, knew there was something happening with the Anchor, knew something was soon to go wrong, as it so often did around this man. But he was so tired of sleeping in a bed alone, feeling bereft and unloved. So he swallowed his tongue, ignored how it sliced at his throat with words that needed to be said, and allowed himself to be held. Just until morning.

\-- 

Bern left early, Dorian only half-waking as he was kissed goodbye. He was fully woken later by a sharp rapping on the door. "Ser Pavus? Ser Charter indicated you might be here!"

"Yes, I'm here. Come in." He sat up, drawing the blankets around him to preserve a sense of modesty. He ignored the burn in his cheeks at being "caught" in the Inquisitor's quarters. The elf servant who entered certainly didn't seem to think anything of it.

"Letter for you, ser," she said primly, then left, closing the door behind her.

It was from the Imperium. Dorian frowned. He hadn't been here long enough for them to expect a report already. He broke the seal and opened the envelope. 

_Magister Dorian Pavus,_

_Congratulations on assuming your new role in the Magisterium, in the seat of the late Halward Pavus. Your induction will be held on the 4th of Verimensis. You are required to attend, or else forfeit the seat given to you._

_Special accommodations may be considered if other work for the Archon is declared to take precedence._

_Congratulations again, and we hope to see you soon._

_Oren Nocus  
Official Scribe to Imperial Archon Radonis _

A small piece of paper fluttered to the bed.

_Dorian, HP was likely assassinated. Watch yourself. I'll try to find out more. I'm sorry. -MT_

The letter was set down on the nightstand. Shaking hands groped for the—thankfully empty—chamberpot beneath the bed. The acrid taste of bile burned up his throat. Thank the Maker he'd yet to eat. 

He shoved the pot back under the bed. When had he fallen to the floor? Did it matter? He pulled the blankets down around him, blocking out the bright morning light and the cheerful ink congratulations, and mourned. Whether for his father's death or the knowledge his father had finally found a chain to hold him, he didn't know. 

\--

Cole came sometime later, tugging at the blankets. "You need your face on," he said quietly. "There are arrangements to be made. People to inform."

"Leave me alone, Cole," Dorian mumbled, trying to pull the blankets back.

"No," he said stubbornly. "You want to move. I _hear_ it. But you need someone to make you, so I will." 

Cole took the blankets, spiriting them away out of reach, then got Dorian to his feet and over to the washbasin. It was hard, but eventually Dorian was able to pull himself back together, piece by piece. He curled his mustache, styled his hair, lined his eyes, worked until he saw himself once again in the mirror.

Cole was gone. 

Dorian ventured out of the suite to find some food. There was a long table of refreshments set up in one of the main halls, heavily picked-over by earlier rising guests. But he got himself a pastry and some lukewarm coffee which heated nicely at his touch. Then he went outside, chewing solemnly on his breakfast.

The sun was comforting, warm on his face. It must be nearly noon.

Near the doors, Varric was sitting with his seneschal, writing letters. For lack of anything better to do, Dorian walked down to him. "Do you know when the Inquisitor will be finished?" he asked.

Varric looked up. "Sometime this evening, I think. He's in private meetings most of today. I went to the public one earlier. Lot of bullshit. Ferelden didn't really send someone very diplomatic. He's the king's uncle though, so." He shrugged.

" _Are_ there diplomatic Fereldans?" Dorian wondered.

"Freckles," Varric pointed out, jerking his chin up toward the palace. 

Oh yes, Bern _was_ from Ferelden, wasn't he? "Fair," Dorian conceded. He sat down next to Varric on the garden wall. He didn't want to be alone.

"What's wrong, Sparkler?" Varric asked, signing the letter with a flourish and handing it to the seneschal. "You're not quite yourself today."

"Perhaps I've mellowed out in my old age," he said wryly. 

Varric snorted. "And I'm a nug's ear. What happened? Something with Freckles?"

Dorian shook his head, then leaned back to look up at the sky, bright blue, with white clouds floating amiably by. "I'm to be a magister. A real one."

Varric understood what that meant. "Shit, Sparkler. Your dad?"

Dorian nodded.

Varric's hand was cool where it rested on Dorian's shoulder. "So I guess you've gotta be in Tevinter to be a proper magister, huh?"

Dorian nodded again. 

"Damn, that's…" Varric looked up at the Winter Palace. "That's familiar, is what it is." His hand squeezed, then released his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

They sat quietly for a while, watching the people mill about, listening to the jumble of accents. Cullen came by with his new dog. At least _somebody_ was having a good day, Dorian thought idly. 

"You know what, Sparkler?" Varric said suddenly. "We're gonna throw you a proper goodbye party. We couldn't before, with all the post-Corypheus chaos. So now you're gonna get one." He hopped up. "I've gotta go talk to the barkeep."

"Ser, your other replies?" the seneschal asked.

Varric waved his hand as he walked away. "I'll get to them later!"

The man sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Of course you will, ser," he grumbled. Dorian smirked. Despite it all, he had missed that dwarf. 

\--

It wasn't so much a party as a "gathering". Varric, Sera, the Bull, and Cole found him at his spot by the fountains and shoved a drink into his hands. They told stories about him, laughing at his follies and cheering his victories. The Bull, who had clearly been drinking far before attending, passed out about halfway through, snoring heartily from his spot on the flagstones.

Varric stood to make a toast. "Sparkles," he said warmly. "The Imperium doesn't want you. It'll probably even kill you. But _we'll_ miss you." 

"What's going on?" Dorian's blood turned to ice at the familiar voice. Bern looked upset. For good reason. Because Dorian had been at a fucking _going away party_ without even telling him he was leaving. _Fucking_ Varric Tethras.

"And you… didn't know." Varric at least had the decency to look embarrassed. He got everyone awake to leave quickly, awkward silence and Bull's snoring all that remained.

Dorian motioned for Bern to follow him someplace more private. "Dorian," he said. "Are you leaving again?" 

He couldn't take this. Couldn't take the pain in Bern's voice, knowing he was the cause. "Yes," he said quietly. "My father is dead. Assassinated, I believe. He… kept me as his heir, so I'm…"

"A magister now," Bern finished, voice quiet. 

"Yes. So, after this Council is concluded, I have to return. I'm so sorry, amatus."

Bern reached out, taking Dorian's hands in his own. "You don't have to do anything, kadan. You don't owe your father _anything_."

Dorian smiled. "I know. This is my chance to help Tevinter. We had only one magister before—my friend, Maevaris. Now, we'll have two. And some of the Lucerni are other magisters-to-be, so our faction is growing. This is _momentum_ , amatus. I can't stop it here." 

"Let me come with you." His expression was tense, determined. "They're probably going to disband the Inquisition here anyway. Let me help you."

"And watch you single-handedly save the entire country?" _Watch you be reviled by people like my mother? Watch you suffer more scars at the hands of my countrymen? At the hands of raiding Qunari? Watch you risk your life everyday just to stay by my side?_ "Tevinter is mine to save, amatus. Just as the world is yours. Inquisition or not, you'll be needed here."

Bern looked away, squeezing Dorian's hands tighter. "But you just _got_ here," he whispered, tears cracking his voice.

"And I will be here as long as I can," Dorian said, stepping forward to press himself against Bern's broad chest. His heartbeat was low and steady against his ear. "Besides, I got you a gift." He'd been planning on waiting, but no, the time was now. He undid the pouch at his waist and pulled out one of the sending crystals. "Come here, amatus. Bend your head."

Bemused, Bern did, and Dorian clasped the crystal around his neck. "There," he said, patting it down as Bern looked at it. "This will allow us to speak across great distances. They weren't easy to get, mind you, but being close to the Inquisitor gets one access to great things. So whenever you're lonely, just open it up and speak to the crystal. And I can do the same." He pulled his crystal up out of the collar of his shirt. He smiled. "Much better than letters, yes? Though I'm sure we'll both be sending plenty of those too."

Dorian showed him how to work it, glad that it was so simple. Bern held it in his fingertips, rolling it around as he examined it closer. "Thank you, Dorian," he said quietly. 

"I love you, Bern," Dorian said, putting his hand over his and leaning close. "Nothing will keep us apart."

Teary-eyed, but stoic, Bern nodded and kissed him, the hand at the small of his back warm and strong. And not for the first time, Dorian wondered if it were better just to let the Imperium burn.

\-- 

Of course it went wrong. It was doomed the moment Bern got involved.

More worrying than the Qunari were the attacks. Whenever they encountered ancient elven magic—plentiful in the world beyond the eluvians—the Anchor flared up, Bern's yells of pain becoming a little louder, the light burning a little longer each time. 

When they weren't in the eluvians fighting, Cassandra was praying in the chapel. Dorian joined her once. He didn't know any of the proper words, but he didn't know what else to do. He sat heavily in the pews, elbows on the bench in front of him, hands clasped together. _If he was ever Your Herald, save him now._

There was no _time_. If he had time, Dorian knew people he could write to, scholars of ancient magic, of the Fade. But they were weeks away in Tevinter. A few times, Dorian wondered if it would be possible to use an eluvian, but they connected in strange ways—he could wander for months and not find Tevinter. 

And Bern was deteriorating fast. After the elven library, where they learned about the origin of the Veil ( _that_ knowledge was still sinking in), he looked up to see Leliana in front of him, still in her Divine vestments. "Dorian," she said, and her tone made his stomach drop. 

"Yes?" he asked. 

"The Inquisitor… He had an attack during the meeting." She closed her eyes, letting out a heavy sigh. "It was a bad one. I saw the way the light raced all the way up to his neck. I… I worry he may not have much longer." She closed her eyes. "He is determined to see this through. Please, watch over him, Dorian."

Dorian didn't know what he was supposed to do. He stared at his hands. His nails were ragged with nervous biting, a habit he'd trained himself out of nearly a decade ago. His palms were inflamed and sore from staff work he hadn't needed in two years. His fingers twitched and shook without his conscious order. Was he really going to lose Bern too?

By the time he looked back up to give some sort of response, Leliana was gone. Cold prickled his skin despite the warmth of the summer evening. He rubbed his arms and pretended he wasn't hugging himself.

The Orlesians began lighting off cheerful fireworks out in the fields beside the palace. They reminded Dorian of nothing more than the roll of distant thunder.

"Dorian," Bern said, approaching silently as he always did. "Will you come with me to the Darvaarad?" His left hand, held stiffly at his side, twitched and glowed with arcane energy thick enough that Dorian could smell it—acrid and sharp, like the sizzle left after a lightning strike. 

He looked up into Bern's face. The hollowed cheeks, the tired eyes, the lips split and ripped from chewing. Even the freckles that gave him his nickname seemed washed out and pale. "Of course, amatus," Dorian said. "I wouldn't let you go without me."

The tired smile he got in return made Dorian's heart break. 

\-- 

_Solas? An agent of Fen'Harel?_

"Come on, everyone!" Bern yelled, gesturing toward the eluvian. "Solas needs our help!"

 _And you need Solas's,_ Dorian thought. _Even if he were the Nightmare itself._

\--

"Stay back!" Bern shouted, his voice hard to hear over the sudden shriek of the Anchor.

"Amatus, wha—"

" _Ba—_ " The rest of his words were swallowed up in a bloodcurdling scream as the Anchor exploded, throwing Dorian, Varric, and Cassandra hard to the ground. 

"Maker, a-are you all okay?" Bern panted, gripping his wrist as he struggled to his feet.

"Fine," Cassandra said. "Can you keep that from happening again?"

Bern nodded, everything about his posture screaming exhaustion. "I think so. I just need to not let it build up like that."

He began to lean over to pick up his dropped sword, but Dorian was there first, putting it in his hand. Bern gave him a weak smile and a gentle headbutt as thanks.

"We need to keep moving. Solas needs us," he said, looking toward the path. "Come on!" 

All Dorian could do was follow, watching the Anchor flare up again and again, hearing Bern scream every time he rushed headlong into a group of enemies to unleash the rapidly building energy away from his companions. He fought and prayed that Solas would be found intact. If the Viddasala got there first… He couldn't even bear the thought.


	4. I look at you,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For better or worse, the Exalted Council comes to a close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some fairly detailed description of surgery in this chapter, so watch out for that.

Finally, the giant Saarebas fell, disintegrated in the Anchor's wash of light. Bern staggered forward through the glowing mirror, which turned dark as he vanished. It refused to allow anyone else through.

"No no no…" Dorian murmured in disbelief. "No! No, you can't do this to me! _Fucking_ thing!" He brought his fist down hard once on the surface before he was pulled back by Cassandra. 

"What if you break it?" she asked sharply. "How will he get back?"

" _He's not coming back!_ " he yelled, tears finally bursting forth as he tried to struggle out of her grip. "Don't you get it?! He's _dying_. And now I can't even be there for his last moments." Just like Felix. Just like fucking Halward, who did not _deserve_ to be mourned and yet Dorian persisted. The fight drained out of him and Cassandra let him go. He sat heavily on the ground, staring blankly at the dark mirror. Tears continued to fall, but he clenched his jaw and refused to sob aloud. 

After a moment, Varric sat down next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. It didn't help, not really. But it was something. 

Minutes ticked by, agonizingly slow. Varric, for once in his life it seemed, didn't speak. Cassandra, unable to sit still, took to pacing the length of the battle-torn ground. It was exhausting to watch, but Dorian couldn't fault her for it. None of them asked how long they would wait if Bern never returned.

Dorian saw it first, the flash of the mirror reawakening. He gasped and jumped to his feet, halfway there when Bern fell through, his left arm a snarl of green magic. Dorian caught his torso, kept him from hitting his head, and lowered them both to the ground, Bern's head resting in his lap. "Bern, are you…" he began, but he stopped himself. "No, you're not, are you?" 

Bern gritted his teeth in what Dorian hoped was an attempt at a smile. Sweat dotted his face, and his lip was bleeding where he'd bitten it. He groped for Dorian's hand, squeezing tightly when Dorian gave it to him. Finally, Dorian ventured a look at the Anchor. It had grown, encompassing most of Bern's arm below the elbow, where the lines of green light abruptly ended, thrumming in time with the pulse Dorian could feel in Bern's fingers.

But as Dorian looked closer, he saw… By the Maker, was his arm _melting_?

With each thrum of pulse, each groan from Bern, a little more of it fell away, sinking into the ground like Fade stuff. Skin and sinew and bone, all turned to sickly green. Dorian looked to Cassandra, who was focused on the magic, perhaps seeing something he couldn't. He turned his gaze back to Bern, smoothed hair away from his forehead. 

"You thinking what I am, Seeker?" Varric said grimly.

"It would be kinder to cut it off," she said solemnly. 

Bern made a small noise of confusion. His eyes were unfocused, fluttering between the three people around him. Dorian stroked his forehead, shushing him. "Here?" he hissed to Cassandra. "Now?"

A large pulse caused Bern to convulse in pain, whimpering. 

Cassandra's gaze was set. "Yes." She pulled an axe from her belt and got to sharpening it with her whetstone. "Dorian, can you find the point where it ends and freeze the base to numb it as much as possible? And can you enchant weapons? Varric, ready as many bandages as you can. Also, Dorian, I'll need needle and thread."

He tried not to twitch at the scraping sound of metal on stone. "It's been a few years, but I should be able to get something on the blade. I'm guessing you want fire to cauterize it?" How was he so calm? He kept stroking Bern's head with his free hand. "As for needle and thread." He pulled a small sewing kit from a pouch at his belt. "Will this do?"

At her grunt of affirmation, Dorian tried to think back to his lessons at Vyrantium. Maker, that was nearly a decade back. Still, he knew the rune for _fire_ , could just recall the incantation to set it to steel. (Kaffas, he hoped Cassandra's axe was steel; he didn't know how to manipulate it for other metals.) While he thought, he moved his hand to Bern's arm, running his palm from his shoulder down, feeling out where the magic ended. Just above the elbow. Alright. Ice bloomed under his fingers, setting into flesh.

Bern moaned, trying to squirm away, squeezing Dorian's hand too tight. The scraping of Cassandra's weapon continued to grate on his ears. 

"Shh, amatus, it's okay," Dorian crooned helplessly, leaning down to kiss his forehead. "It hurts, I know, I know. It'll stop soon. You'll be okay."

The spell reached bone and Dorian let go. Cassandra wiped off her axehead, the newly sharpened metal glinting wickedly in the sunlight. "Varric, are those bandages ready?" 

"Right here, Seeker."

"Good. Dorian, lay him flat on the ground. Varric, take his wrist. Hold it steady." They complied, happy to follow Cassandra's orders. She held out the axe. "Fire."

Dorian was as quick as he could be. He breathed a sigh of relief when the spell took and flames licked up the blade.

Cassandra nodded in approval. "Get him something to bite on. He's already gotten his lip, don't need to add the tongue too."

Dorian quickly sacrificed one of the ornamental belts on his underrobes, folding it over double. "Bite down on this, Bern," he said, putting it in his mouth. 

Maker save him from those fearful, confused eyes. 

"It'll be okay," he crooned again, holding Bern's face. "It'll be okay." 

"Steady!" Cassandra warned as she set the axe against skin, right at the joint of the elbow. Varric tensed. Dorian focused on Bern's face, kissing his forehead as he shielded Cassandra from view, whispering a string of meaningless assurances. 

She cut in. Bern jerked, tears leaking from his eyes, cry muffled. Varric mercilessly held him still as Cassandra worked the axe into the meat of his arm, flesh and blood sizzling as it hit the fire.

Dorian refused to watch. 

After an excruciating few minutes, Cassandra leaned back. "Dorian, needle and thread." He handed it to her. He watched Bern's face. Pain was beginning to ebb away from his expression, which should have been good, but Dorian suspected it very much was not. Cassandra grunted as she tried to thread the needle, cursing under her breath. 

Dorian snatched it away from her. "Tell me what to do," he said, threading it with ease.

So they swapped places, Cassandra at his head and Dorian at his arm. "First, close up those big vessels there," she said, indicating. "Small stitches." 

Dorian pinched them shut and froze them before stitching. The depth of his calm surprised and disturbed him. 

Cassandra nodded though. "Good. Now, see the skin left? Use it to close the wound, those stitches can be bigger, but don't seal it, leave a little open."

"Why?" Dorian asked, baffled, even as he got to work. 

"Drainage," Cassandra said grimly. 

Dorian swallowed and decided not to ask any more questions. The process was slow, and Dorian was growing more anxious at how little Bern was moving now.

"Focus," Cassandra said. "You're almost there. Varric, get the bandages ready." After almost stitching the whole thing, Cassandra stopped him. "Good, Dorian. Varric, get it wrapped up."

As the wound disappeared little by little, Dorian began to shake, panic starting to set in. He went back to sit by Bern's head, checking his breathing as he removed the belt (now practically chewed in half), fearful of how clammy his skin had become. Bern's eyes fluttered open briefly at the touch, but didn't seem to actually see anything before they closed. "Cassandra…!" Dorian gasped. "I don't know if he'll—"

"He's going to be fine," she said grimly. "Let's get him up. He's going to have to walk, since we're not going to be able to carry him. Varric, go ahead and get a stretcher. And a spirit healer."

Varric nodded and took off. Dorian would ordinarily find a dwarf running to be rather comical, but all he could hope was that Varric was faster than he looked. Cassandra and Dorian got Bern upright, one of them under each arm. His head lolled but he was still able to somewhat use his legs, which was a blessing. 

And they began the long walk back to the Winter Palace.

\-- 

The others met them on the way back with the stretcher and laid Bern out. He was deathly pale. As they carried him back, Dorian saw him truly faint, eyes closed, head rocking on his horns. Dorian felt sick. Iron Bull, who was at the back of the stretcher, gave him a look. "He'll be okay, Dorian. He needs to sleep, but you and Cassandra did good. A good healer to make sure infection doesn't set in and a magic healer to poke around for other injuries and he'll be alright."

Dorian nodded.

"You never learned any of the healing stuff?" he asked, continuing casually. 

"No, never had the 'aptitude' for it."

Bull snorted. "Must have rankled."

It had, in fact. "I'm just too good at everything else." He tried for casual, but it came out flat, still worried.

Bull nodded. "Must be it." 

The eluvian to the Winter Palace was finally in sight. Cassandra gave her side of the stretcher to Blackwall and went through first to fetch the healers. Never before had Dorian been so happy to see Orlais.

\--

The spirit healer was an older woman with salt and pepper hair and the drab robes favored by those from the southern Circles. She helped get Bern settled in his bed and unwrapped the bandages so she could look at the stump. She nodded to herself, the small spirit she'd called twining around her fingers as she ran them lightly over the stitches. She did some magic, probably taking care of internal injuries, Dorian imagined.

Then she examined the rest of him in the same way, fingers running the length of his other arm, his legs, his torso, and finally his head. She nodded again and turned to Cassandra. "He'll be okay. Let him sleep, let him heal. He may wake and be confused and disoriented, then go back to sleep with no memory of the conversation had. It's like sleepwalking. Just give him this to drink and help him relieve himself if need be. It should only be for a few days before he's really awake." She set a jug of some sort of concoction on the bedside table. 

She nodded, then turned to Dorian, who nodded as well. "Thank you, doctor," Cassandra said. 

"I'll be in to check on him tomorrow. Let me know if anything changes." The healer left, off to attend to other injuries. 

Dorian sat down next to the bed.

Cassandra put a hand on his shoulder. "Dorian, she said it'd be a few days. You don't have to stay here the entire time," she said gently. 

He shook his head. "Just bring me meals," he said, taking Bern's hand. 

Cassandra looked at Bull, who nodded. 

"Alright, but we'll also come keep you company," she conceded. 

"I appreciate it."

Varric set a book in front of him. "Here, exclusive sneak peek of my newest bestseller."

Dorian snorted. "Good, I'll have something to put me to sleep."

With an elaborate bow, Varric winked. "I live to serve my readers."

Others gave him words of encouragement before leaving. The room grew silent. Bern started to snore gently and Dorian smiled. 

\-- 

The first time Bern woke, Cullen and Dorian were playing chess across the end of the bed. Bern shot up, winced in pain and confusion, looking around. Dorian poured him a glass of concoction. "Bern? How are you doing?"

Bern took the tonic and drank it down in two gulps, sighing when he finished. Then he fell immediately back asleep. 

Dorian and Cullen looked at each other with concern. "The doctor said this might happen," Dorian said after a breathless moment of watching for him to wake again. 

"Do you want to take a break?" Cullen asked. "I can sit with him for a little while."

Dorian smirked. "Trying to get me to forfeit, Commander? Never."

\-- 

The second time Bern woke, the next day, Dorian was reading Varric's awful book draft and making notes in the margins. He woke slowly and sat up, watching Dorian, who watched him right back. "Bern? How are you?"

Bern looked down at his lap, then side to side at both arms. "My hand hurts," he said. He lifted his stump slowly, face slowly squishing with confusion. 

"You lost your hand," Dorian said carefully, getting up to get him some tonic. 

"Lost it where?" Bern asked distantly, taking the concoction and drinking it down. And then he was asleep again.

Dorian adjusted his blankets and went back to his book.

\-- 

The third time Bern woke, Varric was there with Dorian, defending his terrible writing choices. Bern stirred and sat up, looking at the two of them. "Who are you?" he asked, and the bottom of Dorian's stomach dropped out. 

"I'm… Dorian," he said slowly. "And this is Varric."

"Hey, Freckles," Varric said.

"Heh, Freckles, I like that." Bern smiled. "I'm Adaar." 

"Nice to meet you, Adaar," Varric said. Dorian felt sick again. 

"Your friend doing okay, Varric?" Bern asked. "He doesn't look too good." Dorian couldn't do this. What if. What if this was permanent?

Thank the Maker for Varric. "You don't look too good yourself, Freckles."

"Yeah," he agreed, stretching his neck. "I feel like shit, honestly. Ugh, where am I?" He looked around. "Looks… Orlesian, but how in the world did I get to Orlais?" He paused. "Is my kith alright?" he asked seriously. "Shokrakar? Kaariss? Taarlok?"

Dorian recognized that last name. "They're fine," he said carefully. "Went to get their payment."

Bern nodded then sighed, bonking his horns back against the headboard. "Taarlok is going to give me hell for getting myself injured bad enough to have to stay behind. What happened? Do you guys know?"

"Check out your hands," Varric said. 

"My hands? ...Oh, _shit_." He opened and closed his right hand, eyes fixed on the stump of his left. "Well, that's awful. There goes my job. _Shit._ " He hit his horns again, this time hard. " _Fuck_. Ughh, I'm never going to hear the end of this."

"Need a drink?" Varric asked, then looked at Dorian, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes," both Bern and Dorian said together.

Varric nodded and got up. "I'll be back. Play nice."

Bern held up his stump, wincing a bit as he moved it. "So, Dorian, was it? What's a Tevinter doing here in Orlais?"

Dorian couldn't meet his eye. "I'm here as an ambassador."

He lowered the stump with a small groan. "I didn't know Tevinter _did_ ambassadors."

"I didn't either, until I was appointed one."

Bern chuckled.

"What about you?" Dorian asked. "Not too many qunari in Orlais."

"Yeah… I'm not exactly sure? I guess we were closer to the Orlesian border than I thought? Maybe Shokrakar wants to go to this Conclave thing by land instead?"

"Divine Justinia's Conclave?" Dorian asked.

Bern nodded. "Yeah. We were hired by some nobles from Ostwick to accompany their daughter and her retinue." He sighed and moved his stump. "I don't know I'll be able to go anymore. I hope someone will at least come back and give me my share. Do you know how I lost the arm?"

"You, ah, saved a friend of the Empress."

Bern nodded. "Explains the fancy room. Unless this is just average for Orlesians."

Dorian chuckled. "No, I'm pretty sure this is 'fancy' even by Orlesian standards."

"Good to know." He sighed and settled back against the pillows. "I'm really thirsty. Can I have some of that over there?" He indicated the pitcher. 

"Of course." Dorian got up and fetched a glass. It was pale green and smelled strongly of elfroot. 

Bern drank it down and gave his head a shake like it had been whiskey. "Ugh, awful stuff, elfroot."

Even though he was clearly in pain, Dorian had never seen Bern so… relaxed before. "So," he said. "You're Tal-Vashoth?"

"Vashoth, if you're being technical, but yeah, pretty much." He set the empty glass on the table. "Parents are the real deal, former Qunari and everything. Moved to Ferelden a few years before the Blight. Is 'ambassador' a reward or punishment?"

Dorian laughed. "To be honest? I've no idea. I only really came because I hoped to see my… Well, someone very important to me."

"Kadan," Bern said.

Dorian's heart leapt. "What?" 

"It's a Qunlat word. It means something like 'center of chest' or 'heart', but it _actually_ means a person you'd protect with your life, like you would be unable to live without them. My parents both use it, even if they insist on Common most of the time. There's no real good translation for 'kadan'."

"Mm, yes, he's definitely that to me." _Shit, Dorian, don't cry._

Bern patted his arm. "Well, he's real lucky then, because you're a looker." He grinned. "Ah, damn, that stuff must have had some serious herb… stuff in it." He yawned and slid back under the covers. "Wake me up when my people get here, will you?"

"Of course," Dorian said. 

"Thanks." He smiled as he fell back asleep. Dorian watched him for a long time, aware that he'd gotten a glimpse of a Bern he would probably never see again, a young mercenary whose only worries were getting paid and the state of his friends, not the fate of hundreds of people, or even the Maker-damned world.

Still, selfishly, Dorian hoped he would remember everything when he woke again.

When Varric returned, Dorian gulped down both glasses of wine.

\-- 

The fourth time Bern woke, Dorian was asleep in an armchair pulled right up to the bedside, a familiar book on necromancy balanced precariously over his knee—an old, comforting read. He woke with a start as something touched his leg, the book thunking to the floor. 

The room was dark, but Dorian could see Bern's open eyes, gray instead of green in the dim light. "How are you?" Dorian asked.

"Tired," Bern said. "And empty."

"Empty?"

Bern smiled a little. "I hope you don't need to use the chamberpot, because it's pretty damn full."

Dorian chuckled. "I think I'll live. Do you… know who I am?"

"Mmhm. Come here, kadan." He held out his arm and Dorian moved from chair to bed, drawing close. "So… my hand is gone," Bern said to the darkness. 

"What happened in there?" Dorian asked. 

Bern's grip tightened. "Solas is going to destroy the world."

\-- 

The healer was pleased with how quickly Bern had woken up. He'd only been "out" for two days. She checked him over, then recommended some exercises for getting used to his missing limb. Dorian promised to help where he could. 

The healer left them more elfroot concoction before leaving. 

"The Council is going to want to talk to me," Bern said morosely. He made small circles with his stump, wincing. 

"She said not to push it," Dorian warned.

He sighed and let it fall. "I know. ...Maker, my arm is going to shrink compared to the other one. I'm going to be so lopsided…"

Dorian kissed his temple. "I'll take lopsided over dead, thank you. Never do that again."

"Fair point," Bern conceded. "I'll do my best." He grunted as he pulled Dorian one-armed on top of him, grinning at Dorian's surprised gasp. "Good thing you're a tiny mageling."

"Only to you, amatus." Dorian kissed his nose. "You've earned a few more days' rest. What would you like to do?"

Bern smirked, his hand sliding down to the bottom of Dorian's spine. "I'm sure we can find _something_ to pass the time."

Dorian chuckled. "Fine, but you're supposed to be relaxing, so you just lay back—" He pushed Bern's shoulders down into the pillows. "—and let me treat you."

\--

Bern wasn't as okay as he pretended. Dorian was woken later that night by a soft whimpering sound beside him. Bern's usual snoring was gone and he was crying, gripping his stump so tightly that Dorian could see the tension thrumming in his arm.

Pretending to still be asleep, Dorian butted his head up under Bern's elbow, sighing against his chest.

Slowly, the crying stopped and his hand came down to thread into Dorian's hair. Bern began to murmur quietly, clearly to himself. "What am I going to do without you, kadan?" The hint of tears crept back into his words. "What are we going to do…"

Dorian wished he had a good answer.

\-- 

Watching Bern face down the Exalted Council, velvet jacket stitched neatly around his still-healing stump, was thrilling. It was hard to picture the quiet, polite man Dorian had first met in Redcliffe in the face of the stiff-backed, hard-eyed qunari staring down three of the most powerful people in Thedas. To be fair, Dorian thought, he was one of the powerful people in Thedas as well.

He held up the thick book. The writ of the former Divine. 

"As you know," Bern said, turning to crowd, "we pledged to close the Breach and restore order, with or without anyone's approval." He nodded back toward the Council at the last bit. "And we have achieved that end. I thank everyone who served, everyone who lent us their talents and resources. I thank you all for showing that even Ferelden and Orlais can come together when Thedas needs it. Let this knowledge sustain us as we continue to seek peace." He turned to Josephine, handing her the book, then turned to the Council. "As of now, the Inquisition is disbanded."

As the crowd dissolved into chaos, Dorian followed in Bern's wake. He'd vanished, because of course he had; that strange elf found by Leliana to train Bern in assassination had helped him perfect his ability to vanish. It was an impressive feat most of the time, but not when Dorian wanted to find him.

After far too much wandering and speculating on Bern's thought patterns, Dorian discovered him sitting on a bench just outside the palace, half-concealed in the shadows. His back was hunched, chin cradled in his hand as he stared down at the courtyard.

"Feeling alright?" Dorian asked, sitting down beside him. 

"Do you want the honest answer or the polite one?"

"Always the honest one, unless the honesty is about how I am definitely starting to get crows' feet."

That got a chuckle and Bern turned to look at him, smile small but genuine. "I like them. They make you look distinguished."

"Well that makes one of us, I suppose. But what's wrong? I've got more of that tonic if you need it."

Bern shook his head, returning his gaze to the courtyard. "It's not the pain. I can deal with that. It's… Everything is changing again. I have no idea what I'm going to do about Solas. The Inquisition is gone. Part of me wants to say 'fuck it' and let someone else deal with Solas." He sighed. "But I can't do that. I knew him. I _helped_ him, even if it was unintentionally. This is my responsibility."

Dorian was suddenly reminded of a half-overheard conversation between Hawke and Varric. _Corypheus is my responsibility,_ Hawke had said, and now he was dead. He put a hand on Bern's arm. "You're not alone, amatus."

Bern hunched further, eyes moving to the tiles beneath their feet. "Aren't I?"

It stung. "I will stay as long as I can," Dorian said. "I have to return before Wintermarch. But that means I have over four months to give. And being a magister is not without vacations."

"Solas said the Qunari will likely renew the war with Tevinter," Bern said, sitting up so he could put his arm around Dorian. "Will you be alright? You said already that Qarinus sees its share of raids."

"Well, after this, I've had quite a bit of practice in taking down Qunari soldiers," Dorian said lightly. 

Bern gave him a stern frown.

"I'll be careful," Dorian said in a soft voice, resting his head against Bern's chest. "I promise."

"Four months," Bern murmured. "Well, I'll take what I can, if it means more time with you, kadan." He buried his face against Dorian's temple, his shaky inhale the only thing that gave away how close he was to tears. 

"Come, amatus," Dorian said, getting to his feet and holding out his hand. "I think your lovely guest bed is getting lonely."

"I'm not really…" Bern said uncomfortably. 

"Just to sleep then," Dorian said gently. "You're exhausted, Bern."

Finally, Bern nodded and let Dorian help him to his feet. "Very well."

When they got back to the bedroom, Dorian helped him undress and he fell into bed, fast asleep within ten minutes, snoring away like normal, his hand curled around Dorian's. Dorian smiled as he leaned over to comb his fingers through Bern's hair and press a kiss to his soft nose. He never thought he'd grow to find snoring a comforting sound, and yet, here he was. 

He did some more annotation of Varric's horrid book draft, then curled up against Bern's side to nap himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: To research this, I looked up American Civil War era battlefield amputations. It didn't have the death rate you'd expect! As long as infection was kept at bay, well over half of the people lived to see the end of the war. Humans are freaking durable.


	5. and I sigh.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing is perfect and Bern's scars are more than just skin deep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title poem is revealed! It's an abridged version of W.B. Yeats' _[A Drinking Song](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/180680)_

Those who had chosen to stay at Bern's side decided to leave Skyhold. Wonderful fortress as it was, now was no longer the time for siege preparations. Now was the time for careful, quiet maneuvering, and Leliana had found an excellent successor in Charter.

After the Council drew to a close, they returned to Skyhold to bid everyone farewell and went north to Kirkwall. Dorian still hated boats, but it was more bearable when he could drape himself over Bern in his hammock and pretend the rocking was just his breathing. (The illusion broke whenever the waves rose high enough to dump him onto the floor.)

Varric, who had gone on ahead to return to his duties, met them at the docks. "Welcome to Kirkwall," he said with a grand bow.

"I've been here before, Varric. It's not that impressive," Dorian said, grumpy and seasick as they made it down to the pier.

"I'm sure it's better than you remember. Lots of renovations lately!" He turned to lead them into the city proper.

"You mean rebuilding," Dorian grumbled, following. He was unwillingly impressed by the Kirkwellian manipulation of the buildings' old Tevinter bones. 

"You couldn't have picked a better place to retire, Freckles," Varric said brightly, mindful of listening ears. "Real 'up and coming' kind of place. And you've got a hell of an estate, let me tell you."

Varric rambled all the way up to Hightown. Dorian did not miss the stares that Bern got, mixed fear and anger. Kirkwall had a tumultuous history with Qunari, and though Dorian knew Bern would never begrudge the people their discomfort, but that didn't mean Dorian couldn't. He returned each distrustful look he saw with a glare. 

The estate was impressive. Clearly once the house of some magister, based on the layout of the place and how ill-fitting it was stylistically with the more Marcher-style buildings on either side (Dorian would place them as being Starkhaven-styled more specifically, but Free Marcher architectural history was not his forte. Or interest really.)

Varric gave them a quick tour of the interior, pointing out interesting features or different rooms. There were already furnishings in place, so there was a nice sitting room and library, plus a number of guest suites. "But I'll admit," he said as they circled back into the library. "There's one thing that I think you'll really like."

He opened a small box sitting on a bookshelf, fiddling around inside until the bookcase shuddered and moved aside. Bern's eyes lit up. "I've always wanted a secret room."

Varric grinned. "Oh, it's more than that, my friend."

He led them down the stairs and into a basement room lit only by torches. Doors lined the walls, going in a multitude of directions. A long table took up most of the floor, and two elves sat there. The woman, dark-haired and Dalish, smiled. "Hello, Varric!" she said brightly. "Hello, Inquisitor!"

Bern smiled. "I'm not the Inquisitor anymore. Please, call me Adaar."

"You didn't introduce yourself, Daisy," Varric said fondly. He sat down at the table, between the two elves.

"Oops!" she said, still almost insufferably bright. "I'm Merrill! I'll help keep an eye on the alienage. I know most everyone there, and I would never help Fen'Harel." At that she frowned. "Never."

"It will be good to have you, Merrill," Bern said warmly. Dorian could see his excitement. Merrill had been one of Hawke's companions in Varric's book.

Varric looked at the other elf, who had yet to speak up. "You agreed to help, at least introduce yourself," he said gently. 

This man was perhaps the other elf's opposite. Where she was dark-haired and pale-skinned, he was white-haired and dark-skinned. Pale lines decorated his chin and throat. At first, Dorian took them to be simple tattoos, but there was something about them…

Dorian jumped in surprise as the man suddenly stood in one fluid motion, glaring at Bern as if he weren't over a head shorter and nearly half his girth. A tattered red scarf was clutched in his gauntleted hands. "I agreed to help yes, but make no mistake, _Inquisitor_ , I've no desire to be your friend." Sharp green eyes flashed over Dorian, narrowing further in distaste, before returning to Bern. "I will help because it is what Hawke would have wanted. And because, as wretched as this world is, it is a demon I know how to fight."

Bern's eyes widened, his face falling. "You're Fenris," he breathed.

"I am," Fenris said curtly. "I have connections with ex-slaves coming out of Tevinter and with those living in Kirkwall. Most of them are elves. If this Fen'Harel is courting them, I'll know."

And at that, he bid Varric a short goodbye and left through one of the doors, the wood creaking as he slammed it shut behind him.

Varric looked at Merrill and sighed before turning back to Bern. "Sorry about that. He'd been making progress, but Hawke's death and…" He gestured to Dorian. 

Dorian straightened. "What exactly did _I_ do to the man?"

"Did you not read my book, Sparkler? For shame."

"I believe Fenris said he 'wanted nothing to do with a man in bed with the Imperium'," Merrill explained unhelpfully.

Bern steered Dorian over to the table, then sat down. "Fenris is an ex-slave himself, and bears the scars of a magister's… experiments," he said solemnly. 

Dorian had to think for a moment, but it clicked. " _Vishante kaffas_ ," he breathed. "Danarius' Wolf. That was _lyrium_."

Varric and Bern nodded. Bern was looking pale and sick, but he pushed through it. "Varric, where do those doors lead?"

The dwarf smiled, though it was a bit forced. "I'm glad you asked, my friend." He pulled a scroll from his jacket and laid it across the table. It was a map of… something. "This," Varric said, tracing his fingers over it, "is a map of Kirkwall's undercity. Most of the old buildings connect to it in some way. Many of the residents no longer remember, and have bricked up the entrances. But I've been able to partially map them with the help of some of my people. I've hooked up Merrill and Fenris' homes, as well as the Gallows and my own estate." He pointed out and explained the inked symbols. A quill for Varric, a daisy for Merrill, a sword for Fenris, a drinking horn for Bern. "I thought that was pretty funny," Varric said with a chuckle.

Bern blushed, covering his face. "You're never going to let me live down the drunken letter, are you?"

"Oh not at all." Varric grinned.

"Ooh! What sort of letter?" Merrill asked eagerly. 

"So, you see, Daisy. Sparkler and Freckles here were separated for awhile. And one night, Freckles got _very_ drunk with our friend Tiny, who's an even bigger Qunari than him, if you can believe it. So Freckles tried to do what most lonely drunk people do—he tried to find his lover and snuggle."

"But Sparkler wasn't there!" Merrill gasped. "Poor Freckles."

Varric snorted. "Dorian and Adaar, Daisy."

Bern buried his face in his hand. "Call me whatever you like, Merrill." His ears were bright pink.

"But, yeah, Sparkler wasn't there. So Freckles goes upstairs and writes the _sappiest_ letter—"

Now Dorian was blushing just as much. " _You read it?!_ " 

"Well, Nightingale had to read to make sure he hadn't put anything incriminating in there in his drunken state. And _maybe_ I just had to sneak a peek after I heard her laughing. It was really sweet, Freckles." He smirked at Bern, who just lowered his face to the tabletop and groaned, his whole head tinged pink where the hair was cut short enough to show skin. "I also _may_ have needed material for the chapter of this book that'll be dedicated to your whirlwind romance."

"Just. Just please stop talking, Varric," Dorian mumbled. 

"I think it's cute," Merrill said. 

"Me too, Daisy." Varric got up from the table. "But back to business, these doors go down into the undercity. I recommend lateral movement only. There's dark shit buried under Kirkwall, shit that doesn't need to be brought to light. _Hear_ that, Freckles?"

"Understood, Lord Viscount."

"Good. Now, I'll see you later. Let me know if you need anything." He made his way back up the stairs, closing the door behind him.

Merrill got up. "I'm through this door!" she said, pointing. "Through there and then down a little ways, then up a ladder and into the back of the… wait, no I missed something there." She frowned, brow furrowed. "Creators, this is why I had Fenris show me the way here. I do hope he's still around."

Before anyone could offer to help, she went through the door Fenris had exited through, her voice calling his name. Bern glanced down at the map. "Fenris is close. I'm sure she'll be alright. She's lived here over ten years."

"I hope so," Dorian said, looking at the door. "She seems like a nice woman."

Bern nodded and stood up from the table, stumbling a little as he tried to use the back of the chair to balance, his left side lurching forward without a hand to stop it. He growled as he pushed back onto his feet. 

"Are you alright, amatus?" Dorian was standing, already half leaning to try and catch him.

"Fine," he said shortly. "I'm going to explore the house on my own."

Dorian frowned. "I… Alright. I suppose I'll go see what sort of markets are here in Hightown. Do you need anything?"

"Not that I can think of. I'll see you soon." And Dorian watched him go up the stairs, wondering at his behavior, before he sighed and shook his head. It would come out eventually, he supposed. 

There were a multitude of markets in Hightown. Some of them even had northern fruits that he was certain Bern had never tried before, so he bought a few to take back. When he returned, there was a strange dwarf in the kitchen.

"Er, hello," Dorian said. 

The man turned and smiled. "Hello there! You must be Lord Pavus. Lord Adaar told me to expect you. My name is Bodahn Feddic. My son, Sandal, is probably around here somewhere." He looked around, but there was no one else in the kitchen. "He's with the Inquisitor, I expect! The lad seemed to be quite taken with him. I wonder why."

"I suppose you were hired by the Viscount?" Dorian asked.

"Yes, ser, indeed. I kept house for Serah Hawke, Stone keep him, and I quite liked the work. Lord Tethras joked I've become something of a keeper of heroes!" He chuckled. "I did work with the Hero of Ferelden, so I suppose Lord Adaar makes three. Life is odd sometimes."

"That it is," Dorian agreed. "Do you know where he's gone?"

"Upstairs in the master bedroom, last I saw," Bodahn said, turning back to the pot boiling on the stove. 

Dorian thanked the man for his time and set off to try and find the way upstairs. It was tricky, the layout of the estate was rather strange, but he eventually found the staircase and the master suite. Bern was indeed there, sitting on the bed, talking in a low voice to another dwarf, this one with pale hair and large blue eyes. Something about him reminded Dorian of Cole.

Dorian assumed this must be Sandal. 

They both turned to look at him as he entered. Bern nodded at Sandal, who smiled and nodded back, getting up from his spot on the floor. "Hello!" he said to Dorian, before walking out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Dorian sat beside Bern on the bed. "Here, I got you something." He took out the tangerine. 

"An orange?" Bern asked, taking it.

"No, a tangerine. Smaller and sweeter, with less of that white film. You eat it like an orange though." He took out one for himself and opened it up, peeling it into segments.

Bern watched him, then looked at it down in his hand.

Dorian's stomach dropped. "Maker," he muttered. "I didn't even think—"

Bern brought it to his mouth and peeled the rind back with his teeth, then used his thumb to squish into the top, pushing the segments apart. Juice dripped down his chin as he ate. "It's good. Thank you, kadan."

Dorian's face burned. "You're welcome, amatus." 

They finished their fruits in silence, then set the peels on a handkerchief to bring down to the kitchen. Dorian wanted to dry them and use them as a spice in something later. Perhaps with beef?

Bern was still very quiet. 

"What's bothering you?" Dorian asked. "Fenris?"

Bern nodded, then sighed and fell back onto the bed. "It was an unpleasant reminder that everyone who was lost under my command had loved ones, families, _lives_. Who was I to demand that of them?" He lifted up his stump, staring at it. "A Tal-Vashoth merc who had weird magic stuck to his hand. Was that really worth dying for?" 

Dorian leaned down to kiss his forehead. "You're not perfect. You're just a man."

"But they died for _Andraste's Herald_ , not me." He rolled away from Dorian, grabbing several pillows to his chest. "Who the fuck am _I_?" he asked the wall, head tilted off the side of the bed. 

Dorian followed him across the bed, sitting behind his broad back. "You're Lord Bernart Adaar, former leader of the Inquisition and Comte of Kirkwall," he said, kissing Bern's shoulder. "A man who, despite everything, successfully rid the world of a magister darkspawn. If that isn't the Maker's work, then what is?" 

"Do you still believe I was chosen?" Bern asked quietly, rolling onto his back to look Dorian in the eye.

Dorian thought about it, then lay down, resting his head against Bern's chest. "I do. But I also believe in _you_. You've proven yourself time and again to be more than just the mark that you once bore." He put his hand on the stump, squeezing lightly. "And I think those who resent you for being the one to make the difficult decisions will realize in time that it was for the best." He thought about Fenris' anger. "And if they don't, know it was their choice to hold onto the resentment, not something you should have done."

Bern sighed. "I wish I could change the past."

"You and I both know that kind of thinking goes nowhere good, amatus."

Bern nodded in agreement and sighed. "Doesn't change that I want to." 

Dorian lay down next to him. "Be careful with that; _you_ tend to actually _get_ the things you want, amatus."

Finally, a chuckle. "More of my divine bad luck, I suppose." His arm was warm as he pulled Dorian closer. "Not all of it is bad though. I turned the eye of the handsome, confident mage, after all. That must have used up all the good luck."

Dorian smiled. "Oh I don't know. Maybe that was a bit of mine."

They lay like that, half asleep in each other's arms, and for a little while, everything was alright.

\--

This was the first Satinalia they would spend together with the world relatively at peace. They didn't know what to do.

"The boy and I were going to go into town and enjoy the night's festivities," Bodahn said. "If you don't need us, of course, ser." He nodded to Bern, who waved him away.

"Please, Bodahn, enjoy the holiday."

With a smile, wave, and a cheerful "Goodbye!" from Sandal, Bodahn left, leaving Bern and Dorian alone in the house. Bern looked down at Dorian and smiled. "Well, kadan, I wasn't really in the mood for street-side revelry, but I did pull together a little something." He crooked his finger for Dorian to follow him into the sitting room, where he reached up to grab a box from atop one of the bookcases.

It was wrapped in gilded blue cloth, the gold threads glittering as it caught the red light of the setting sun. Afraid to tear into something so lovely, Dorian carefully untied the cloth and opened the box within.

He pulled out nightshirts, soft and supple, in pale greens and blues. Bern smiled. "Orlesian silk," he explained. "So that even when we're apart, I'm still in your bed."

Dorian laughed and set the box down, then hugged him. "I love them," he said.

"So?" Bern said after a moment. "What did you get _me_?"

Dorian smirked. "I got you the greatest gift of all." He spread his arms and bowed. "Me!"

Bern laughed. "I thought I already had that."

"No, no, you see, for tonight, I will do _whatever_ you please." He snaked his arms around Bern's waist, rocking them both slowly from side to side. 

A big hand came up to tangle in his hair and Bern's voice dropped low. " _Anything_ I want, you say?"

"Anything," Dorian agreed.

"Alright then." Bern shifted his grip, moving his hand down to brush his thumb over Dorian's cheekbone. "Let's enjoy Satinalia up on the roof. No crowds, just us and the moons."

Dorian raised an eyebrow, smirking. "And just how are we 'enjoying' our time?"

Bern smiled. "I suggest we bring comforters and pillows." He leaned down and brushed his lips against Dorian's ear. "And oil. I want to feel you inside me, Dorian."

Well, _that_ woke Dorian up. He grinned. "Can do, amatus." He thought for a moment. "I admit, I'll feel a bit like a poodle humping a mabari though."

Bern laughed so hard he snorted, his cheeks flushing pink. " _Andraste's tits,_ Dorian, I love you." He was still laughing as he said it, which abruptly shifted to tears coursing down his cheeks. "I love you so much…"

"I love you too," Dorian said gently, reaching up to wipe his tears. "Come on, let's get those blankets."

They made love under a starry sky, watched by the moons overhead, shy Satina peeking out from behind her sister. Afterward, they wrapped themselves in the blankets and stared up into the heavens, the sounds of distant revelry and their own contentment filling them up until there was no room for tears.

\-- 

The next few weeks went by too quickly. Charter was just as competent as Leliana and soon they had reports and messengers coming in from across Thedas. Fen'Harel's people were _everywhere_.

Merrill looked at the map thoughtfully, running her finger between the little black marks that indicated a known agent of the Wolf. "He must have taken over an existing cult," she said. "Not all Dalish are the same, after all."

"Or they're descendants of the ones he freed from slavery, and they remembered," Dorian suggested. "The modern Dalish are descended from those taken by Tevinter, but if some escaped their grasp, they might remember a very different Arlathan."

She pursed her lips. Merrill had been reluctant to believe them about "Fen'Harel the liberator". Probably she thought they, non-elves, had misinterpreted what they'd seen. "Perhaps," she said. 

"If it was a cult of Fen'Harel, that _would_ explain how he managed to build this in less than a decade," Charter said. "I'll see what I can uncover. Maybe we could try to convince them he isn't actually Fen'Harel. Surely what they're expecting isn't aligned with reality after so long."

Bern nodded. "See it done and let me know what you find out."

She touched her fist to her opposite shoulder and bowed her head. "Ser." And then she was through one of the underground doors, off to meet her contacts.

Bern and Dorian went back upstairs with Merrill. They all ate together on the balcony outside of the living room, Bern and Merrill chatting about what he'd seen in the eluvians, discussing some of the possibilities. Dorian was distracted by the trees in the square, their branches empty and brown with the winter. It was already the last week of Firstfall, and it was three weeks' journey to Minrathous. He needed to leave very soon. 

He had quietly asked Maevaris to petition the Archon, request that his role as ambassador be extended, but it had been denied. There was no longer an Inquisition, after all. Dorian leaned into Bern's shoulder as he and Merrill continued to debate, eyes on the glittering sea peeking out from behind the buildings. He didn't _have_ to go, he pondered to himself. He could let the Archon place someone else in the seat, stay here in Kirkwall and help Bern. Maevaris was capable. She could run the Lucerni on her own…?

He sighed through his nose. She _could_ , but she shouldn't have to. And Dorian was the only other member with any real political clout, at least for the moment. Bern placed his hand on Dorian's knee, giving him a brief look of concern.

Dorian glanced up at the bedroom window. They could talk later in private.

Bern nodded in response, then returned to his conversation with Merrill.

\--

Bern didn't take Dorian's imminent departure well. As much progress had been made, Dorian knew he was still so fragile just beneath the surface. It was so hard to see him cry—bitter, fat, ugly tears that left his face swollen and splotched with red. 

"I'm sorry," he said miserably, rubbing at his eyes. He was sitting on the end of the bed, hunched over as he tried to get his breathing back under control. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I need to…" 

Dorian kissed the top of his head and held him to his chest. "Amatus, you don't need to do anything. You will be fine, and we can talk every night. I know it won't be the same, but it's something, isn't it?"

Bern was quiet. "I'm acting like a child," he mumbled after a long moment. 

"You've been through too much. It's okay."

"It's not." Bern pushed out of his grasp and fell back into the middle of the bed. "I'm sorry, Dorian. Please, just… give me a little while, okay?"

Feeling his shoulders slump, Dorian nodded. "Of course. I'll… I'll be in the library if you need me."

The library was stocked with many of his favorite books, but no matter how comfortable the chair or how familiar the book, he couldn't focus on the words in front of him. 

Against his chest, the sending crystal warmed and glowed. Fumbling with the chain, Dorian opened it. "Amatus?" he asked.

He could hear Bern chuckle. "Wow, it actually works."

"Did you think I would give you a broken gift?"

"No, of course not, but… magic is so strange, you know?" He chuckled again, very low and soft, then his voice grew more serious. "I'm sorry for before. I shouldn't have broken down like that. I knew you had to leave and I knew it would be soon. It was childish of me."

Dorian leaned back in his chair, setting the book aside. "I don't blame you, Bern. You've rather been put through the wringer. You've earned a bit of ill temper, I think. I admit, it's nice for it to not be me for once."

He relished the little laugh he got in return, breathy and oddly flat with how it echoed from the crystal. Dorian frowned a little. "Amatus," he said seriously.

"What is it, kadan?"

"You asked me why I didn't want you to come with me to Tevinter."

"Back during the Council, yes. You said this was something you had to do yourself."

Dorian bit his lip. "While that's true, it's… not the entire reason." 

Bern was silent as he waited for Dorian to continue. 

He sighed heavily before he did, pulling his legs up onto the chair to curl around the crystal. "I don't want you to put yourself in a dangerous place just for my sake," he said softly. "You're safe now, relatively speaking. The people of Kirkwall have no love for Qunari, but they won't move against you. Tevinters… fear Qunari in the abstract, but they are dreadfully confident in winning individual battles. If you were attacked…" He sighed again, reaching up to grip his hair. "Especially because of what Maevaris and I are doing politically, I couldn't live with myself."

The crystal's light dimmed. Bern had closed its housing. Dorian clenched his teeth. Did he think Dorian was infantilizing him?

"I know how you feel," Bern said. Dorian looked up to see him in the doorway to the library. "And now you know why I fear you going back." He walked over to the chair, leaning down over Dorian. Dorian recalled looking up at him just like this, when Bern, just the Inquisitor to him then, had quietly offered him comfort after Felix's death. "If you died somewhere far away, and I was unable to stop it, I would be…" He shook his head. "I have no words for it."

"Maevaris needs me." 

Bern nodded sadly, then leaned down further to kiss his forehead, hand braced on the back of the chair. "Stay safe, kadan."

"You have my word."

\-- 

The day of his departure dawned gray and chilly. Travel would be miserable through Nevarra, but Dorian had no regrets. "I'll come and visit as soon as I can," Dorian said, kissing Bern goodbye.

Not content with just that, Bern scooped him up one-armed and kissed him deeply, leaving Dorian weak-kneed. Bern smirked as he pulled away. "That better be a promise," he purred.

Merrill giggled off to the left. Varric shushed her.

"It's most _definitely_ a promise," Dorian said. And then softer, so just Bern could hear. "We'll speak soon."

And late that night, as Dorian settled down into the simple inn bed that he once would have found intolerable, they did, quiet voices filling the empty night.

And he knew everything would turn out okay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! But don't worry, I'm working on another story in this series right now :3 Thank you all so much for reading!


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